March 11, 2009

Your grief for what you’ve lost lifts a mirrorup to where you’re bravely working.Expecting the worst, you look, and insteadhere’s the joyful face you’ve been wanting to see.Your hand opens and closes and opens and closes.If it were always a fist or always stretched open,you’d be paralyzed.Your deepest presence is in every small contractingand expanding,the two as beautifully balanced and coordinatedas bird wings.

Rumi

Rumi begin with the grief for what was lost - a phrase that surely gets my attention. But Rumi says that this grief lifts a mirror. I recognize this is an amazing truth, a beautiful and enlarging insight. This mirror shows us where we are working, bravely working. Things look their worst in grief. And yet, there in the dark bitterness is the kindness of a friend, a lily in bloom, the soft satin of the blanket's edge. These signs work on me, and in my imaginings I connect with the essence of God; it is a fleeting feeling of being held, a feeling of hopefulness and of greatness enveloping me. I feel my sad, dragging, crying, loathsome self begin to soften, to look, to open to this light, and to the warmth of connection. I stretch my hand/heart open, just a little at first, then close again. Then, feeling a soft breeze upon my face, move to open again. I expand, and then contract, and somewhere within this slight movement is where I settle, balanced in a faint flutter.

About Me

It has become more difficult to introduce myself. How do we describe who we are? I realize that I am not defined by my name, my gender, my profession, my relationships, my religion, or my accomplishments. My past does not define me. I am… something else. Some will say that I am a presence moving gently here, and that I am one who listens deeply, loves with an open heart, finds bliss in ordinary miracles, and seeks truth in silence, innocently. I am not so different than you.